


Howls About You Take Me Home

by Celly1995



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Bad Puns, First Kiss, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Innuendo, M/M, Puns & Word Play, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celly1995/pseuds/Celly1995
Summary: Of all the nights for Patrick's willpower to give up the ghost, it's Halloween.(featuring Captain Dead Serious, Mr. B-Movie Werewolf...and too many puns)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a random conversation with a coworker about the first season of _The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt_ , combined with a memory of something a friend had said about a photo of Kaner sometime a couple of seasons ago.
> 
> I had this half-written, and then the Hawks had their Halloween party, and Jonny made that post to Instagram/Twitter about his costume, and I almost scrapped this whole thing. A handful of folks on Twitter wanted to see it anyway, so...here it is. I'm not sure if I should be delighted or horrified that I managed to briefly channel Jonny in some way. Much thanks to Esby for letting me flail at her about elements of this, and to Groolover for the quick beta ♥
> 
> [Two inspiration-like images linked in the ending Author's Note, one each for Jonny and Patrick]

It's Halloween that finally gets Patrick's resolve to crack, and he almost wishes he meant regarding his sugar intake.

Instead, it's his restraint regarding his captain. He's done so well, playing oblivious to the long looks Jonny throws his way, ignoring the urge to do more than let his eyes skim ever-so-casually and plausibly-accidentally over that body in the locker rooms when he's under the spray of the shower or wearing nothing more than a towel draped precariously around his waist. He's resisted the drive to act, to take the leap, to increase the weird sort of flirtatious interactions they seem to be having more and more these days—even when he starts to think maybe it's not just him, maybe Jonny's feeling it, too.

Patrick finds his eyes drawn to Jonny within seconds of him entering the place hosting their annual costume party, like he (or maybe just his ass, who knows?) has some gravitational sort of pull that forces Patrick's gaze to him. His costume isn't even close to the most elaborate one here—from what Patrick can see from where he's standing with a small group of guys and their girlfriends, it just looks like some fake blood and either zombie or standard corpse makeup on his face and chest, a couple of passable fake wounds here and there, and more fake blood splattered over his ripped and tattered version of his everyday clothes—jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Patrick's probably not going to win Best Costume or anything, but at least his is pretty good. He went the extra mile and bought specialty contact lenses and fake claws that he had to glue to his nails, and they really work the whole werewolf look when paired with some hairy long gloves that leave his fingertips free. The fangs connect it all, and he knows it's kind of impressive. He's been told so five times tonight.

Jonny saunters over, nice and casual, and joins right in on the conversation—just some stupid thing about the merits of gore-and-loud-noises shock horror movies versus the mindfuck psychological kind—even though Patrick knows he's not really a fan of either. Jonny'd rather sit through a rom-com any night of the week, and Patrick has to agree with him on that preference. The conversation ends in a stalemate, Darling and Soupy each promising (or threatening) to make the team sit and watch _The Conjuring_ and the original _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ and putting it to a vote, and Patrick's only one of the seven or eight people who kind of drift away a bit and let them continue to debate the nuances of horror cinema.

Seabs and Dayna are considerably more chill conversational partners, and it's fun to scan the room and try to identify all the people they know and costumes they've chosen—especially some of the couples, who've clearly been planning for this for months. The whole time, Patrick can feel Jonny's presence at his side, not quite oppressive, but so very obvious, impossible to ignore. There's the heat of him at Patrick's back and side, even when they're not actually touching at all, and it's so fucking distracting—especially because instead of wanting to escape it, he wants to feel it wrapped around him. And when Jonny laughs at something Dayna's said and leans in to let her touch one of the fake wounds on his face, his hand brushes up against Patrick's side, and Patrick has to clamp down _hard_ on the small, ragged gasp he didn't expect to make.

He thinks Jonny heard it, too. And once Jonny stands straight again, only to move in just a half-step closer, enough so that his hand can trail over the small of Patrick's back and rest there for a couple of seconds without anyone else seeing, Patrick's positive he did.

Fuck. Fucking fuck. He's not sure where this is going, but it's got his heart rate up and he almost grabs Dayna's hand and begs her to stay once she spots a friend of hers across the room and excuses herself and Seabs to go say hello, leaving Patrick standing alone with Jonny, who moves to face him like a good conversationalist, like Patrick can't still feel the heat-imprint of his giant hand on his back. Still, he's got to keep this light. Easy. _Normal._ "Nice setup," Patrick offers, a completely sad bit of conversation that's only meant to get Jonny to grow bored and move on, just for Patrick's own sanity and handle on his willpower.

"Music's a little loud," Jonny says, and the way the his eyes roam over Patrick, all the way down his body and back up, makes Patrick feel giddy, like he's had a hell of a lot more than just the one drink. "Kinda hard to hear, if you want to actually talk. But I guess it's pretty cool." He's staring again, in a way that makes it clear that Patrick has most certainly not been imagining things between them lately, a weird kind of intimate, physical chemistry that's different from their on-ice chemistry.

He can't quite think of something else to say, and so they stand there, just looking at each other for a few moments while Patrick tries to pretend like they're just casually hanging out, same as always. Patrick licks his lips, watches Jonny track the move. It's dark in here, the only real illumination coming from some of the fog machines around their feet and the glow from the white items and specially-painted things lit up by the blacklights. Even Jonny's teeth glow a little when he grins. Still, Patrick's sure they're identifiable enough. And Jonny must have the same thought, because he jerks his head subtly in a way that Patrick has no trouble reading as a command to follow him away from the outskirts of the dance floor, towards a hallway that seems to be where a bunch of extra chairs and a few tables have been stored to be out of the way of tonight's partygoers.

"You look fucking ridiculous in that get-up," Jonny says, once they're completely alone. "Let me guess, one of the werewolves from _Twilight_? What are you, Team Jacob?"

Patrick snorts, glad to have some semblance of 'everything's-normal' again in his life. "No, you fucker. And my costume kicks ass, thanks, especially compared to yours. You took the lazy way out and just threw on some fake blood over your regular shit." He's not going to comment on the Team Jacob thing, because that might possibly lead to an actual lecture on who kicked more ass in that series, Jacob or Edward, and why—or worse, that he'd actually gotten a few of his costume details after seeing a couple episodes of _Teen Wolf_ the other week after flipping through his cable channels while trying to mellow out enough after a game to get some sleep. Neither of those things are going to help his chances right here. Ten minutes ago, he'd have been terrified at the thought of _having_ any chances at all. But the last ten minutes have done a lot to chip away at his willpower and, fuck it, he's going to go with it, see what happens.

"It wasn't lazy," Jonny says and, wow, okay, he's standing really close again. Closer than he needs to be for Patrick to hear him over the music, which is significantly muted in their new location. "It was practical. And understated."

"Yeah, whatever." Patrick raises one side of his mouth in a smirk, hoping it shows off at least one of his fangs. He's got four of them in—two on top, two on bottom—and they really do sort of make the look, especially paired with the claws he's wearing. "At least now that dead-eyed stare you always do looks like it fits in."

"Shut up, Patrick," Jonny huffs, and now he's even closer. Patrick would step back— _should_ step back, anyway—except he really likes Jonny this close. He flicks his eyes through all the stacked chairs and tables toward the dance floor, but absolutely no one's paying them any attention; he realizes that Jonny chose this spot well, because they're really not visible at all from the rest of the room, and that was definitely not an accident.

"Make me." It's the sort of thing he'd say when he's being mouthy in the locker room or on the ice or even just hanging out, but there's an undertone of invitation to it, and he knows Jonny hears it by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle just a little.

Jonny nods and leans in, presses their mouths together. Patrick can taste the artificial cherry flavor of the fake blood, feel the tackiness of it on the corner of his mouth, and he suddenly really fucking regrets wearing the fangs over his teeth, because it is seriously interfering, here. There's absolutely no way to show off his kissing skills with them in, no matter how he tries. Hell, it takes effort just to keep from biting Jonny by accident or to keep from dislodging one of the damned things and swallowing it.

"That was a shitty kiss," Jonny mutters, sounding disgusted as he pulls away, and Patrick would protest, except it really was, so he gives a noise of agreement. He's about to make light of it so there are no hard feelings, ready to go off to privately curse the universe for fucking up the one chance he probably had, when Jonny raises his eyebrows. "Let's get out of here, eh? Somewhere a little more private."

"Are you serious?"

Jonny just stares at him, deadpan, and the expression combines with his makeup for the perfect effect. "No, Kaner. I'm _dead_ serious."

Patrick's torn between cracking up and groaning, so he just sort of huffs something that might be a laugh and rolls his eyes. "Aren't _you_ clever?"

Jonny smirks at him. The fake blood around his mouth is smeared a little, which only makes it look more realistic. "I mean it, though," he says, leaning close and whispering in Patrick's ear, voice pitched low in a way that makes Patrick feel just a little tingly. "Let's get out of here. Back to my place."

"You _are_ actually fucking serious, aren't you?" Patrick murmurs, the truth of it starting to get through to him in a concrete, non-hypothetical way. Holy crap, this is happening.

"Yeah, I'm _fucking serious_." His breath is hot and damp in Patrick's ear. "And that's what you can be, within the hour, if you want." He pulls back and looks at Patrick. Even in the dark, Patrick can see his pupils are wide, and he thinks there might be a flush under all that blue-grey makeup. He wonders if his own pupils are just as large, if Jonny can tell under the gold werewolf contact lenses Patrick's wearing.

"You have your car?" Patrick asks. His voice comes out low, which is good, because he'd almost expected a squeak. "I didn't drive."

"Yeah," Jonny says, nodding. "Valet-parked in the garage. Let's head out, nice and casual. You've got a headache that the music's making worse, and I'm just being the good friend, giving you a ride home."

Patrick rolls his eyes. "We don't have to make a damned announcement. I caught a ride from someone in my building who was going to a party a few blocks from here. No one's going to be looking for me at the end of the night."

"Then let's go." Jonny looks around once more, like he's trying to plan the shortest way from here to the door. He seems to find it, and leans in close one more time, that crooked smirk back on his face. "And once we get there, I'm going to get you out of that ridiculous costume and see if I can _really_ make you howl."

This time, Patrick does laugh, even though it's even cheesier than Jonny's previous puns. "Yeah?" He pokes at one of the fake wounds near Jonny's collarbone, a set of four rough parallel lines that drag diagonally downward. "Then don't be surprised if the claw marks you find on your back or chest tomorrow morning are real ones." Jonny closes his eyes briefly and mutters what Patrick knows are French swear words, and Patrick doesn't miss his small shiver, either. Good. Let Jonny think about that for the ride home, get good and worked up, just like he's got Patrick. "Now let's get the fuck out of here."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to make a "le petit mort" joke at the end, there, but couldn't quite make it fit *shifty eyes* ~~[maybe if there's ever a porny follow-up?]~~
> 
> Also, bonus "inspiration" pics:
> 
> Back in 2015, Esby said she'd found a fic that mentioned that Kaner spent the post-season looking "like a B-movie werewolf" in the A/N and sent this photo along as an illustration, and I will NEVER get that description out of my head. [See for yourself](http://i.imgur.com/t2guywz.jpg), and tell me it's incorrect.
> 
> I'm pretty sure my reaction to [this post](https://www.instagram.com/p/BMA70K-D4Je/) was just shaking my head and muttering Jonny's name, but the makeup's impressive. Also, he continues to be just as much of a dork as I've always figured he is, so there's that XD


End file.
